


storming heart

by veksi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pining Lance (Voltron), Soft keith, also desert storms are real and they are fucking terrifying, everyone's mentioned fleetingly, i wrote this to get some feelings out thats why its so metaphorical and flowery, idk i like it, not enough to be sad, soft Lance, soft klance in general, some Angst??, theyre just two boys in space :(, this was sort of a test piece?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veksi/pseuds/veksi
Summary: lance comforts keith during a storm.





	storming heart

Rain was a comfort for Lance.

It was among the ever-growing list of things he missed from Earth. Rain was a solidarity, a quiet hand that led him creep out of the walls he’d so desperately built to protect himself. He was vulnerable when it rained, and he wasn’t going to deny it– rain brought the worst out of him.

Storms were chaos.

Thunder was the flaming anger he kept so neatly bottled up, the anger he’d save for the darkest of nights when he’d let his emotions get the best of him. The anger he kept buried deep in the pit of his throat that released itself by way of his fists or the frustrated sobs he muffled into his pillow. Lightning was the face in the mirror; strikes of blinding light capturing his expression through the empty screen of his phone pictured him better than a photo could. It reminded him, cruelly, that he was a child– scrambling for his hold onto the world to remember that he _belonged._ When the rain came, it was his mother’s embrace in the somber night and when the wind whistled, it was his father’s gravelly voice protecting him from the monsters in his closet.

Storms were different in space.

He realized this when the castle landed on a furious planet, Mother Nature taking none too kindly on her path of destruction here. Their landing was one of emergency, really; Allura had exhausted herself with a series of wormholes to knock the Galra off their trail and here they rested, guarded by the fiery storms of the skies and the raging waters below. 

It was strange; water was frigid to the touch but the rain, the _rain_ was the tender hands of the planet, warm and safe. Lance’s hands found themselves dancing against the droplets, each finding a place of serenity in the grooves of his knuckles, his palms, his wrists. The skies and the sea may have been different, but that which fell from above was too reminiscent of his life at home.

 _Home._ It was hard to tell what “home” was anymore. His place among the paladins was a bond unlike any other, insecurities and wishes tucked in the confines of their minds lay open for one another. He’d laid out his life to them: his endless tics, pounding against his skull like a lumberjack to a tree; how he pushed more love onto others than he ever did onto himself because his family filled in the gaps; the soft kiss against the temple of his head every night, from the first in infancy and the last before he’d left for the Garrison. Lance knew that his memories were home for him, a place to return.

He wonders absently if your head could be considered home.

A gentle tap to his shoulder breaks him from his stupor. He’d been sitting outside the castle for half an hour now, letting the rain sweep across his palms but now he was here, grounded. Lance looks back, storms of violet staring back at the spiraling whirlpools of his own eyes. Keith’s lips slope into an awkward smile and Lance finds himself grinning back, standing to his feet.

“Dinner’s ready. Coran told me to come get you.”

Lance nods, chirping about his excitement of a rainy planet when he notices Keith, and he means _notices._ Keith’s shoulders are squared and stiff, glancing back at the bruised blue skies above them and the warped, maroon clouds beginning to roll in from the south. It’s a beautifully horrifying sight, one Lance would associate with the whimsical manner his abuela would tell horror stories to scare him into bed. It was a fond memory, even if he can recall his adolescent self sleeping with a flashlight until fifteen.

“You okay?” Lance inquires, placing a hand on the small of his friend’s back and watching him relax under the touch. They make their way inside the castle and Keith releases the breath he was holding.

“Yeah, sorry, just...storms.”

Lance doesn’t understand but he doesn’t pry, either; just runs his fingers up the length of Keith’s spine and settles it on the nape of his neck, as a gesture Keith takes solace in. They share another smile and when they reach the dining room, Lance’s hands are twitching behind his back.

–

“‘night Shiro,” Lance calls absently as the Black Paladin turns in for the night. They’re gathered in the common room, sharing stories from the Garrison and drawing mental pictures of each other’s endeavours. It was a good night, especially when Allura joined them– if only fleetingly– and went on about her time in Altea. 

“I think I’m gonna join ‘im,” Hunk yawns, stretching the muscles of his arms behind him, “You guys sleep well tonight.”

Lance curls into Hunk’s hand when the taller pets his head, stubby nails scratching his scalp only to leave seconds later. Lance whines, touching his his head with a face of sorrow.

“Don’t just leave a guy hanging like that!”

“Good night, Lance.”

Any further protests are quieted when Pidge stands up as well, glasses skewed on her face from her position on the floor. She looked exhausted, and he wouldn’t blame her; she’d been working non-stop on developing enhancements for the castle against the Galra. While she hadn’t made much leeway, the act itself brought immense pride among the paladins.

“I’m going to my room,” she murmurs, rubbing at her eyes and subconsciously making her way towards Lance. They’d developed a sort of “good night” system. Both of them had developed a severe case of homesickness and relied on one another on the worst of nights. Today was not one of those nights, but the way she trudges over like she needs a hug for at _least_ hour twists his heart painfully. He was her brother, there by her side if she needed it. 

He leans his head up to kiss the temple of her forehead, earning her fussing hand against his cheek. He chuckles in response, mumbling “you asked for it,” and watching her as she says good night to Keith and returns to her room.

“And then there were two,” Lance says, standing to stretch his muscles. “You ready to head back in, Mullet?”

Keith nods, pushing himself off the couch and following Lance quietly back to their rooms. He follows the Blue Paladin until he’s reached his living quarters.

“Night, Lance.”

“G’night, Keith.”

Keith turns on his heel and saunters back to his room, leaving Lance in his own thoughts as he prepares to settle for the night.

–

The rain pattering at his windows is calming. He’s at peace right now, despite the thunder sending rumbles throughout the castle. Today was a “good day.” Lance’s good days, while they happened often, sometimes concluded on a bad note due to one thing or another. But today was truly good.

His hand pats restlessly against his bare leg. Lance was never one to sleep in clothing; it felt gross and scratchy and left no room for the exuding hormonal discrepancies he’s been feeling for about seven years of his life, now. Not in the gross way, just the overemotional, pimple-causing stresses he feels in his daily life.

Today’s subject is Keith.

He normally doesn’t think about things like love and compassion and respect and admiration. It sends him on a spiral of self-denial, diving head first in the seas of emotional prosperity, and it feels like he’s swimming through molasses. His love is heavy, it runs deep, and it’s the source of his problems.

He’d never admit he worries _this_ much. Keith is an independent, strong guy and while he’s reckless and does what he wants, he can always handle himself. Tonight seemed different, though; the way he’s stared at the swirling hues of the sky, worry etched deep in his brow and back set pin-straight, was so...so not Keith.

So Lance lays there, and he worries and considers and lets his brain run wild while the mindless thrum of raindrops patter against the walls and rolling thunder strikes heavy on the castle, and he just thinks. Between the lines of Keith and the color violet and fluttering eyelashes and more Keith, a soft rapping resounds from his door. Lance groans, heavy, _annoyed,_ pulls himself off his bed, puts on some pants, and swings the door open.

Speak of the devil.

Said devil flinches when another rumble pulsates through the castle, fingers curling deeper into the hippo plush Lance made him a few months back on the planet Kerjitz, where fabric shifted colors and Lance taught knitting classes. His heart swells at the sight, of Keith with this stupid little memoir and for a heartbeat he remembers how long they’ve been there. One year, two months. Lance would be seventeen by now.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head and tilts his head to Keith, who looks like he very much does not want to be there but has no choice. He notes that Keith wears his normal clothing to bed which _cannot_ be comfortable, and considers the way his feet shuffle and he stares holes into the ground.

“You okay?” Lance inquires. Keith shakes his head. “...you wanna come in?” 

Keith nods.

Keith makes a beeline for the bed, familiar with the room from previous late night endeavours and sits on the edge, kicking off his slippers and toying with the edges of the hippo’s feet. Lance approaches him carefully, in case Keith’s on the border of another paranoia attack-thing (Keith calls them sessions) and gives him some space. See, Keith doesn’t agree with this, and the windows bring the shining light of four moons and dance off his scarlet cheeks, and Keith makes a move. Tugs Lance to his side, and curls his legs to his chest, and leaaaans. He’s so close, and his hair is tickling Lance’s chin, and the Cuban’s heart is running a mile a minute and his brain screams and his fingers dig into his fists and holy fuck.

“I hate storms,” Keith mutters, fingers picking at the frayed edges of his shirt. “They’re loud, and they’re abrasive and they want all the attention but it’s all bad attention, and they make my ears hurt and I fucking _hate_ storms.”

Lance can only nod, stiffly, and lets a hand creep around to Keith’s other shoulder. God, this is fucking insane. “Is that really why?” Crap, did he stutter, why’s his voice pitching like that– 

“No.” Their knees are bumping together now, and Keith is near dead weight on his side. He winces, but not nearly as bad, at the sound of thunder. “...my dad wasn’t really ever around when they happened, and desert storms are pretty fucking terrifying. It’s dry and they can cause fires and it gets so fucking hot when lightning strikes. It’s so– so loud, too, and I just...dealt with them. I’d hide under my bed and I’d try not to make a huge deal out of it whenever he’d come home, but he left. He left on a storm literally just like this, and they– fuck, lightning struck inches away from the porch. This was my first week alone, where I didn’t have him in any way, and...I was– I was nine, Lance. I was _nine.”_

Lance’s hand tightens around him, and his forehead tips into the pool of raven locks under him and he breathes in deep, and he nods. Nods, keeps nodding, heart keeps pounding and Keith is quiet, and Lance hums under his breath, and he spits it out. “I’ll be your umbrella. I got you, Keith.”

Keith freezes. Goes limp. Slumps into Lance’s arm, and Lance threads his fingers through those pretty locks of hair and lets him go through the motions, teetering on that edge of an attack and uses Lance as his anchor. They are on a boat, and Keith’s gripping the sides with knuckles hot white and Lance stabilizes them. He is the anchor, the calm, the help. They’ll be okay, Lance will make sure of it.

Keith lets Lance pull him into the bed, inches away from one another and they gaze, galaxies of eyes meeting and colliding. Tornadoes spiral in the pit of Lance’s belly, and he swallows _hard_ when Keith plays with his hands and weave their fingers together. The hippo rests at the edge of the bed, right next to Lance’s shark. Keith waits, and the storm calms. Lance can feel him a breath's away from his nose.

“You really mean that?” Keith asks, dragging Lance’s hands closer to his chest.

“Of course.” Lance offers a half-smile.

“...okay. I’ll be an umbrella, too.”

“Thank you, Keith.”

They fall asleep.

– 

Morning comes as a warm filter of sun on his neck, but the bed is void of any other warm presence. As to be expected, but he sort of thought they had a moment there, that Keith wouldn’t leave after he’s gotten his nightly dose of comfort. That’s okay, though, he gets it. He doesn’t own Keith.

Lance drags himself out of bed, stifling a yawn behind his fist and scratching at his stomach. His back aches today, and he’s certain it’s because of the sudden temperature drops on the planet hitting left and right. He’s never truly recovered from that explosion their first week on Arus. Ghost pains sink deep in the marbled scars of his back and sometimes Lance can hear the explosion exploding on his back. It aches today, but he’ll deal with it well enough.

Lance makes his way to the dining hall for some breakfast, belly a-rumblin’ for some hearty food goo in the morning. The others are already seated at the dining table, and Keith’s just now wandering in from the kitchen with his own bowl of goo. He offers a wave to them all, a quiet good morning, closes his eyes in yet another yawn, and when he opens them again, Keith is rushing to him. Kinda fast, too, actually, and– 

Keith slams their lips together, inexperienced and awkward and standing on his tippy-toes to just reach Lance’s lips, and he’s flushed such a deep red when he pulls away, fingers at his neck and Lance’s heart has officially soared out of his chest, boarded Blue, and has flown her out of this galaxy and into the heart of the universe. _Wow._

“Thank you, for everything,” Keith says, and tries to pull back but Lance has got this iron grip on his wrists, and he pales a little, and he can see Shiro out of the corner of his eye ready to break up the situation if it goes awry, and sees Pidge with her mouth agape and Hunk a mix of happiness and worry, and Lance thinks, fuck it.

He kisses Keith with all he’s got, pushing their lips together and leaning in deep, near dipping him to the floor and the blush on his face could rival the red of Keith’s jacket, and that’s fine, this is fine, Keith’s lips are a little chapped but this is fine– fuck, this is _incredible._

He pulls away with a pleasant whine, and saunters away to the kitchen. Keith stands with a loopy smile, and red reaching every inch of his face, and Lance looks over his shoulder. “No problem, Keith!”

Silence. He hears Keith let out a happy sigh. No more storms outside, and all is well and quiet and calm. 

Then Pidge breaks the silence with a shriek of, “What the _fuck_ is going on?!”

Maybe it's poetic to think the rains and storms and thunder and lightning are what kindle his romance, maybe it's poetic they clink together and fit awkwardly together because of that night, but for now, Lance would like to think about how soft Keith's lips are in the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> i just sort of. wrote this? ive had it in my works for MONTHS and never got around to finishing it until this week's monday, when i was on a plane and there was some stormy weather and i kinda got sad and decided to combat that with some therapeutic writing. it's soft and short. nice.
> 
> if you like this, maybe check out my ongoing fic [hearts aligned!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12003831) or you can check out my tumblr @gggenos. whatever tickles ur fancy
> 
> thanks for reading!


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